


Invisible Ink

by DianaCloudburst (Cloudburst_Ink), LaCroixWitch



Series: The Little Black Book [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Magnus, Bottom Magnus Bane, Bottom!Magnus, Come Marking, Come play, Dom Alec Lightwood, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Husbands, Kink, M/M, Penetration, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Smut, Sub Magnus Bane, Top Alec, Top Alec Lightwood, Tumblr Prompt, Wax Play, bound wrists, dom!Alec, sub!Magnus, top!alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudburst_Ink/pseuds/DianaCloudburst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCroixWitch/pseuds/LaCroixWitch
Summary: -Based on this Tumblr prompt!-----Magnus loves the rare occasions on which his husband takes complete control in the bedroom. There's only one problem: when Alec takes control, Magnus loses his. As much as Magnus wants to explore his husband's more dominant side, they can't risk his magic lashing out. It's too dangerous—someone could get hurt.... Until Magnus comes up with a drastic solution.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: The Little Black Book [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586785
Comments: 44
Kudos: 385
Collections: Hunter's Moon Fic Recs





	Invisible Ink

**Author's Note:**

> [Based on this Tumblr prompt!](https://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/post/189495090840/god-i-want-you-to-write-this-so-badly-please)
> 
> \-----
> 
> Thanks to [LaCroixWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCroixWitch) for helping me iron out the kink aspects of the story!
> 
> \-----
> 
> Want to read this story with pretty formatting, intro music, dark mode, and other extra features? [Check it out at Cloudburst.Ink!](https://cloudburst.ink/invisible-ink/)

Magnus’s eyes linger on the small black notebook on the desk before him. It’s an old one—not by Magnus’s terms, but by some—every page long since filled with debts, transactions, and other notes. A soft grin plays across his lips as his eyes drift lovingly over the lines of red and black ink scrawled across the page in front of him, a mix of his own looping script and Alec’s scrawling hand. It’s the only page that includes anyone’s handwriting other than his own.

 _Alexander Lightwood. One evening. Paid in full. One first date. Paid in full._ There are more entries on the page—some teasing and lighthearted, some solemn and laden with promise.

 _One week of undivided attention and pampering. Paid in full._ Magnus grins at that one, despite his throat tightening with emotion at the careful, deliberate strokes of Alec’s handwriting. It looks like one of the lighthearted ones, but it was written during one of the most trying times in their relationship. He still remembers it like it was yesterday—compared to his centuries, it almost feels like it was.

It started with an incredibly traumatic body swap with Valentine Morgenstern. He was imprisoned, questioned, tortured. All the while, he begged the Shadowhunters to believe him, to understand—it wasn’t him. He wasn’t Valentine. Not even Alec saw through the spell, saw Magnus’s soul hiding terrified in the murderer’s body.

It had taken a long time for both Alec and Magnus to move past that—Magnus to overcome his visceral fear of losing both his magic and his control, and Alec to overcome his crushing guilt for not realizing what had happened. Magnus was having flashbacks, trapped in a cycle of sleepless nights and anxiety, triggered by that knowledge of just how powerless he had been, a helplessness he hadn’t felt since his childhood.

Alec decided they needed a vacation.

It was a move so unlike the responsible, painfully dutiful young Shadowhunter. He organized everything, packing Magnus into a car—he insisted on not having Magnus just portal them somewhere—and driving them just over an hour southward to New Jersey, where an isolated lakeside cabin welcomed them. It wasn’t glamorous, or luxurious, or fancy. But it was quiet. There were no phones, no other people, just the two of them and several days of Alec waiting on Magnus hand and foot, coaxing him gently back to his old self.

That was the first time that Magnus saw the potential in Alec for exercising a more dominant side. The Shadowhunter had a knack for paying attention to the details, for throwing everything he had into understanding what Magnus wanted and needed. Magnus always held most of the control in their relationship, and hadn’t pursued anything otherwise until much later, long after the little black book had been filled up and set aside.

A rare blush rises to Magnus’s cheeks at some of those fresher memories—the way Alec could focus so completely on him, could exercise a level of control over Magnus’s body that left the warlock awestruck and trembling. But those evenings never lasted long.

Magnus shakes his head thoughtfully, his black-manicured index finger tapping at an ornate black and silver inkwell on the desk beside the book. It’s been years since that awful situation with Valentine Morgenstern—whose hateful presence no longer blights the planet—and months since they tried anything like what Magnus is currently imagining—anything where he gives up control. It isn’t that it tends to go badly, exactly. In fact, it’s usually an incredibly erotic experience. There just tend to be… complications.

The click of the loft’s front door draws Magnus out of his reverie, his nerves aflutter. Alec’s soft footsteps find their way to the desk where Magnus sits. A warm kiss brushes across Magnus’s cheek, melting into a smile when Alec sees what Magnus is staring down at. “How is the High Warlock of Alicante?” Alec asks gently. Strong hands massage Magnus’s shoulders.

“A little nervous,” Magnus admits with a wry smile, spinning the desk chair to face his husband. “And you, _Mr. Inquisitor_?”

Alec rolls his eyes at the teasing, then fixes his gaze on Magnus, one eye slightly narrowed. “Nervous? About what?” His voice is tender and concerned, and calls forth a rush of warmth and love from deep within Magnus’s chest.

Magnus closes his old notebook with a thump and lifts the decorative inkwell from the table. He holds it up to his husband. Alec kneels as he takes it, leveling their eyes. “Inside this bottle is spellcasting ink,” Magnus ventures hesitantly. “It’s invisible to everyone except the person who mixed it. And very effective in rituals that are meant to go undetected. Such as curses, and binding spells.”

Alec places the bottle aside, back on the desk, and clasps both of Magnus’s hands in his, rubbing soothingly between his knuckles. Endless questions are written across his face, but worry wins out. “What do you need me to do, Magnus?”

Magnus snorts at that, breaking the solemn tension that Alec has a habit of falling into so easily. “I haven’t even said what I’d like to use it for.”

Now Alec is only confused. He purses his lips. “It doesn’t matter,” he says carefully, clearly wondering if he’s about to regret his words. “I trust you. Whatever you need from me, it’s already yours.”

“Haven’t we already discussed your dangerous habit of making vague, open-ended promises to me?” Magnus smirks.

At that, Alec stills. Magnus can clearly see the gears turning in his head, recalling the other occasions Magnus has spoken like that to him, wondering if Magnus meant to allude to them. The Shadowhunter’s pupils expand, and his eyes drop to the floor as a subtle flush creeps over his cheeks. He starts to say something, then bites his lip and changes his mind before trying again.

“Okay then, what _do_ you want to use it for, Magnus?” he asks softly. He sits back on his heels, thoughts clearly racing to come up with some conclusion on his own, likely coming up with all sorts of very dirty and very incorrect guesses.

It’s beautiful, how quickly Alexander Lightwood-Bane can melt from the bold, confident Inquisitor he was when he entered the room to the blushing, shy young man he is now, still so untainted and pure. He peers up at Magnus through his eyelashes, looking every bit the bashful boy he was years ago when they first found each other. Magnus is sure that Alec does it on purpose these days—keeps up the persona because he knows Magnus likes it. But tonight, that’s not what Magnus is looking for… at least, maybe not until later.

Magnus slides a finger beneath Alec’s chin and lifts it, placing a soft kiss on the Shadowhunter’s lips. As he pulls away, he lets the request tumble quietly from his mouth before he can change his mind, his heart racing. “I want to try having _you_ take control again.”

They both freeze like that, Alec blinking up at him from where he kneels on the floor, Magnus waiting and watching him anxiously, still holding a feather-light pressure below Alec’s chin. Alec gathers his thoughts, momentarily stuttering in wordless surprise before he shakes off Magnus’s touch and states the obvious. “Wha—? I—no! Magnus, last time you almost burned the loft down!”

Magnus sits back in his chair with a huff. He notes in the back of his mind that their current position is rather pleasing—his legs parted, Alec kneeling between them. He rolls his eyes, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “It’s not my fault,” he insists casually. “That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. I lost control.”

Now Alec is bright pink. Magnus knows the praise isn’t lost on him. The warlock has a very long, very colorful sexual history which he has never been shy about sharing. Alec’s hungry blue eyes slide down Magnus’s body, clearly recalling the night in question, before the Shadowhunter brushes the moment of weakness off with an almost comically obvious head shake. “No,” he says firmly. “No way. They had to _evacuate the building_ , Magnus. It took all of my pull as Inquisitor to keep the Consul from banishing you from the city. I had to lie to her! I told her you had a nightmare!”

“Yes, I remember, Alexander. The required six weeks of therapy she made me attend were surprisingly nice, if not entirely necessary. All I’m saying is, I want to try again.”

“It’s not like it was a one-time thing we can hope was a fluke! There’s a clear pattern. Think of the poor windows the first time we tried it.” Alec’s voice verges on begging, and Magnus wonders if he’s doing it deliberately to distract him. Magnus loves making Alec beg for things. “You can only claim ‘potion gone wrong’ so many times before everyone starts thinking the High Warlock is incompetent,” Alec insists.

“I only shattered _our_ windows that time, the other apartments in the building were fine. And the second time we tried it I only shattered our drinking glasses. No one even knew it happened.”

“Magnus!” Alec groans. “No! I’m not doing it. That’s final. I’m sorry. What if someone got hurt?”

“You mean aside from me?” Magnus winks, and Alec groans again, burying his face against Magnus’s leg.

“You’re terrible,” Alec grumbles. “And the answer is still no.”

They sit like that for several minutes, enjoying the sound of each other’s breathing and the warm contentment of their physical closeness. Magnus runs his fingers through Alec’s hair, petting his head, and the nephilim sighs appreciatively. It’s a beautiful view that no one else in the world gets to see—the Inquisitor on his knees, nuzzling Magnus’s thigh while Magnus massages his hair fondly. The heady combination of loving affection and the closeness of Alec’s face to Magnus’s crotch has the warlock’s dick twitching with interest. But Magnus isn’t ready to end the conversation yet—he has one more card up his sleeve.

“What if I _can’t_ lose control of my magic?” Magnus asks quietly, finally. “What if I don’t have use of it at all?”

Alec’s head snaps up, his blue eyes suddenly frighteningly cold. “What?” The word is sharp, but Magnus knows the harshness is not directed at him. It’s _for_ him, directed at anyone who would dare try to make such a thing happen. That fierce protectiveness, an unveiled hostility toward whoever would lift so much as a spiteful pinky in Magnus Bane’s direction, is exactly why Magnus feels completely at ease suggesting what he is about to suggest—something he has never even considered trying with anyone else in all of his centuries.

Magnus lifts the inkwell from the table, catching Alec’s hand in his and curling the Shadowhunter’s fingers around it beneath his own. “There’s a mark we can use, with this ink,” he explains carefully. “It’s completely temporary—we can place or remove it at will. It would bind my magic. I want to use it so we can explore that again. You being more dominant with me. More… demanding.”

The chill in Alec’s demeanor gives way to awe and a hint of very justifiable fear. “You would want that?”

“Only with you,” Magnus answers truthfully. Emotion trembles in his words. “I’ve never done it before. Never wanted to. But I just… I want to now. With you.” Magnus’s free hand ends up on Alec’s cheek, thumb tracing feather-light shapes across the smooth plane of his skin. He brushes it over Alec’s lips, which part to welcome the touch.

Alec guides their joined hands around the bottle back to the desk, leaving the ink there once more. Then he wraps his grip around the hand Magnus holds against his lips. He kisses every knuckle, then both sides of Magnus’s wrist, then the center of his palm, taking the time to contemplate the warlock’s admission. Finally, his eyes rise to meet Magnus’s.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Alec murmurs. Magnus’s heart plummets to his stomach. Alec watches, and just like he always does, he catches every self-deprecating emotion that flits across the warlock’s disappointed features. “Magnus, no. Don’t do that. It’s _not_ because of you. You’re perfect. I can’t even wrap my mind around how amazing you are.”

Magnus knows he might not want the answer, but he has to ask anyway. He can’t help it. “Then why?” he pleads.

Alec hesitates before resigning himself to honesty, his shoulders sagging. “Maybe you’re not afraid, but I am. This is a big deal to you, Magnus. I’ve seen you without your magic, remember? A few times now. And I don’t want to do that to you. It’s an important part of who you are, and it’s not worth making it disappear just for the sake of getting off.”

Warmth blooms in Magnus’s chest. He wants to argue, but he understands. This decision was frightening for him to make, but it’s also frightening for Alec now, having such a huge responsibility placed so trustingly in his hands.

“I get it,” he answers. He places a kiss on Alec’s forehead. “If it helps, know that my magic wouldn’t go away—it would still be there, within me. No matter what, I’d have my immortality and my mark. I just wouldn’t be able to use it directly. Like being blindfolded—your eyes are still there, just not accessible at the moment.” Magnus drops his head to kiss Alec’s nose, and the Shadowhunter looks up at him with such adoration and admiration that Magnus’s heart leaps into his throat. “Think about it, okay?” he asks softly. “It’s not as scary as you fear. But if you give it some time and still decide you don’t want to, I understand.”

Alec nods silently, his eyes sliding back to the black and silver inkwell. He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “We can at least talk about it. Tell me a bit more about how this spell would work.”

Magnus grins. He can’t help it. He loves how willing Alec is to jump headfirst into anything Magnus suggests, so full of trust and devotion. “All you have to do,” he starts, “is draw a rune on me with the ink. It’s not one of your angelic runes, but similar in concept…”

**~*~**

The loft is dark when Magnus peeks around the door. His pulse races, the tension and anticipation that has been building for the entire day edging to a sharp crest. This is the evening they made plans for—for Alec to bind his magic, tie him up, and fuck him senseless. He took one client appointment today—it afforded just enough time out of the house so that Alec could properly prepare.

Magnus inches into the apartment, dropping his glamour. His flashing cat eyes peer through the shadows. Alec is nowhere to be seen. Magnus’s heart hammers in his chest. He steps fully into the loft, adrenaline spiking, waiting to be ambushed at any second. The few times they tried this before, Alec was rough, and powerful. Magnus braces to have his wrists wrenched behind him, his knees forced to the floor. His cock twitches excitedly in his pants, eager for his husband's torturous, teasing touch. _Where is he?_

A curious voice calls from the kitchen. “Magnus? Is that you?” Magnus tilts his head. It doesn’t quite sound like he expected. Alec’s voice normally goes lower when he takes on a more commanding role, firm and authoritative—it’s the same voice he uses when presiding over trials, or arguing over legislation with the Clave. But this voice… it’s just Alec. Normal, everyday Alec.

Magnus kicks off his shoes and pads softly over to the kitchen. The light is on, the only one in the whole loft. It spills out into the living room and beckons Magnus closer. When Magnus steps into the room, he stops short at the scene that greets him. Alec sits at the table, two cups of tea steaming in front of him, still steeping. He’s still completely dressed in his plain, everyday clothes—black jeans and a grey cotton shirt.

“... yes?” Magnus answers, confused. He hovers in the doorway, caught completely off-guard by the domesticity of the moment.

Alec strains his tea bag around a spoon, tapping it on the edge of his cup. “Are you not sure who you are?” he chuckles. “I made tea while you were gone, thought you might like to come back to it.” It is something Alec has done hundreds of times before, but in this particular instance, it throws Magnus completely off-balance.

“Uh… ” Magnus stutters. All of the remaining sexual tension coiled across his body promptly deflates. “Tea?”

“Yes?” Alec answers, one eyebrow raised. He eyes Magnus carefully. “Are you okay?”

“Um.” Magnus races through their recent conversations in his head. Did he get the day wrong? No, today is definitely it. Did Alec forget? The Shadowhunter didn’t make any mention of their plans all day. Magnus thought his husband was teasing him—acting like everything was normal to feed the tension. Now Magnus is second guessing himself. Maybe Alec _did_ forget.

He decides not to bring it up until he’s certain. Maybe his husband just wanted to push it off until a bit later in the evening. Magnus shoots Alec an appreciative smile, hoping it doesn’t look too forced. “Yeah! I’m great. Just a bit distracted, sorry. I’d love some tea, thank you.”

Magnus settles into the chair by his mug, across the corner of the table. Alec asks about Magnus’s appointment, and they talk about their plans for the next few days. It’s just like any other evening—except that Magnus’s heart rate spikes whenever his husband’s leg bumps his, or their fingers brush against each other.

“Do you have any clients tomorrow?” Alec asks. He walks around the table, seating himself on the same side of it as Magnus so he can face him with no barrier between them. The closeness makes Magnus jumpy. He feels like Alec is watching him, waiting.

“No,” he answers, allowing a little annoyance to leak into his tone. “You said you’d be off tomorrow, too. Remember?” The question is a test. What Magnus really wants to know is if Alec remembers their plans for _tonight_.

Alec rests his hand affectionately on Magnus’s knee. The back and forth between Magnus’s expectations and the reality before him is giving him emotional whiplash, confusing his body. Just that simple touch startles him, sending a little shock of pleasure up his leg. He tenses up. Alec shoots him another curious glance, and withdraws his hand.

“I did?” Alec muses. “That’s my bad. We’ve both been so busy lately. I must have forgotten.” He drains the last of his tea and carries the cup to the sink, focusing on washing it and leaving Magnus sitting there, stewing in uncertainty. When he returns to Magnus’s side, gentle knuckles knead into the warlock’s shoulders. They venture beneath the collar of his shirt, pressing soothingly into his muscles. Magnus sighs, leaning into the touch.

“You’re so tense,” Alec murmurs, half joking with the cliché line. “Are you really okay, Magnus?”

“Yeah,” Magnus answers. He finally relaxes, surrendering himself to the tender moment and realizing just how absurd he’s acting. “Especially now. Gods, I love you, Alexander.” His words melt into a quiet moan when Alec hits just the right spot, his husband’s thumbs tracing soothing shapes over his shoulder blades.

“I love you, too.” Alec plants a quick kiss on Magnus’s cheek before standing up straight again. “Want me to get your mug?”

Magnus swipes the cup off the table and abandons his chair, twirling to face his husband. Alec’s strong hands fall gently to Magnus’s shoulders. “Oh please, Alexander. I’m a warlock. I can do this much.” He tosses the mug into the air behind him with a flourish of his wrist, a move he’s done a thousand times before. It’s a nifty little bit of magic, meant to clean it and return it to its place in the cabinet. When Magnus’s fingers release, Alec smirks knowingly. It takes Magnus barely a second to realize why.

It hits him the moment he hears the crash of ceramic behind him on the kitchen’s tiled floor, and his stomach drops.

Magnus’s gaze immediately darts back up to Alec’s, his entire body freezing. Alec’s eyes have gone darker, irises swallowed by expanding pupils. He watches Magnus with cool satisfaction. His grip on the warlock’s shoulders is a little tighter than it was only seconds before—controlling. Firm. The overwhelming urges to fight or flee battle for dominance over the most primal corners of Magnus’s brain, resulting in his adrenaline-powered body defaulting to the third option: Magnus doesn’t move. He barely breathes.

Alec most certainly did _not_ forget.

Alec’s eyes sink, then rise, slowly drinking in the warlock’s entire body. “Did you think I forgot?” Alec’s voice is low, and smooth. It has an air of confidence that Magnus rarely hears from him in private—the kind of certainty and authority he carries in battle, or when condemning criminals. It’s hard, and calculating. “Did you think I’d changed my mind about getting to push around my favorite little warlock whore?” He grips Magnus’s chin roughly as he speaks, examining him almost like livestock.

“I… I—no,” Magnus finally manages, eyes wide. Alec’s aggressive tone echoes straight to Magnus’s balls. He can feel his pulse in his ribcage. Just to be sure, he subtly tries another small spell. Nothing. “How—”

Before he can finish his question, Magnus’s knees hit the floor hard enough that he’s sure he’ll have bruises tomorrow. Alec has his wrists both pinned behind his back, holding them firmly enough to preclude any attempt at escape. The Shadowhunter is fast, and Magnus becomes acutely aware of just how outmatched he is without his magic when Alec still has runes and nephilim strength at his disposal. Alec’s body presses against Magnus’s from behind, leaning on one knee that lands just outside of Magnus’s.

“Color?” Alec’s breath tickles hotly over Magnus’s ear, and the warlock’s whole body tingles. It’s been a long time since they used colors in the bedroom—they’ve been so familiar with each other for so long, they haven’t bothered much with it lately. Magnus swallows the nervous excitement that bubbles in his throat, cutting off his voice, and nods instead of responding verbally.

“Use your words.” Alec demands, like a strict teacher scolding a child. “I know you’re capable of speech.” He presses his lips to the soft spot below Magnus’s jaw, molding their bodies more tightly together. Magnus finds himself wishing more than anything to have all of the layers of clothing between them suddenly removed. But no matter how much he wishes, he can’t make it happen.

“Green, Alexander,” Magnus answers, his voice wavering.

Alec stands up and releases Magnus’s wrists. He circles until he stands in front of him, then tilts his chin up. “Rule number one. You will address me with the proper respect. That’s Inquisitor, or Sir. Understand?” Cold eyes bore into Magnus’s.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Magnus breathes. The chill from the kitchen tile is creeping through his slacks to his knees.

“Take off your shirt.” Alec drops Magnus’s chin. Magnus’s first instinct is to magic the garment back into his closet, which reminds him again that he no longer has use of his powers. Alec’s eyes flare at the hesitation. “Did you not hear me, or are you waiting for your demon-blooded magic to do it for you? If you are, you’ll be waiting all day, warlock. I’m not asking. Take. It. Off.” A flood of panic sends Magnus scrambling to obey, uncharacteristically cowering in response to the way Alec towers over him. Alec _never_ uses that tone with him. Even when they argue, there’s never hostility or aggression. Certainly not like this.

Magnus yanks his shirt over his head and chucks it across the room, a vain attempt to vent some of the apprehension that buzzes beneath his ribs. His necklaces clatter coldly against his chest, and that combined with the sudden chill of open air has his nipples hardening in response. Alec pulls a strip of black satin from his pocket. Magnus’s breath catches when the Shadowhunter kneels behind him and uses his mess of necklaces to tug his body forward, metal clasps digging into the back of the warlock’s neck. Alec captures his wrists again, bending Magnus’s arms behind him and tying them deftly together.

Magnus has been tied up many times in his life, and in many ways—mostly for sexual pleasure. Never once did he experience the kind of thrill he gets now. Usually, having his wrists bound is just a show. Usually, they both know he can free himself whenever he wants. But this time… 

Magnus reaches out with his magic, willing the bonds to fall away. They stay firmly put. He is entirely at the mercy of his husband.

He wonders, if he went back and told himself even just a decade ago that he would end up here, what his reaction would be. Tied up and vulnerable at the pleasure of the Inquisitor of the Clave. The thought would have terrified him. It terrifies him a bit now, too. It’s a new kind of frightening, one that affects his body in thrilling ways.

“Excited already, are we? I knew you were a dirty slut,” comes the breathy growl in his ear. Alec rests his hand over the growing bulge in Magnus’s pants, and Magnus whimpers, dragged back to the present. Alec lets the weight of his palm sit there, unmoving, taunting. Magnus can’t help but roll his hips, seeking friction only for the hand to pull away completely.

“Fuck, I’ve been aching for this all week,” Magnus moans, mourning the loss of his husband’s touch.

“Rule number two.” Alec is on his feet again, returning to his earlier post in front of Magnus. He tugs at Magnus’s hair to jerk his attention upward. Magnus yelps. He can hear his own pulse in his ears. Alec’s face is close enough to his that he can feel the Shadowhunter’s breath tickling his nose. The Inquisitor’s voice is quiet—the kind of voice people stop talking to listen to. “Do not speak out of turn. Think you can manage that? I know it’s asking a lot to tell a warlock not to mouth off.” Magnus is only a little bit embarrassed to realize that he was too distracted by the shape of Alec’s dick straining against his jeans to fully listen to the question. He mentally plays back his husband’s last few words before answering.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he breathes, his eyes falling again toward the button of Alec’s pants.

“I think I know exactly how to keep that pretty little mouth of yours occupied. Want to take a few guesses?”

Magnus licks his lips, hoping the question isn’t rhetorical. “You can fill it with your cock, Inquisitor,” he offers weakly.

“Spoken exactly like the little whore we both know you are. Would you like that? If I shut you up with my dick in your mouth?” Alec only pauses for the briefest of seconds before continuing, heading off the answer forming on Magnus’s lips. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter if you like it,” the Inquisitor smirks. “You don’t really have a choice, now do you?”

Magnus is fine with not having a choice in this instance. He wants to feel Alec fall apart in front of him, wants to watch him shudder when Magnus services him with his lips and tongue. Magnus’s own cock aches with need at the thought. He wants to unbutton his pants and free it, but he can’t with his wrists bound behind him. He settles for shifting slightly in place, seeking out the tiniest bit of friction to relieve some of the tension. The sound of Alec’s jeans unzipping only further fuels his arousal.

“Stop squirming,” Alec orders, and Magnus forces himself to sit still. He watches hungrily as Alec pulls his cock out, holding it just in front of Magnus’s face. Not yet ready to explore the punishments his husband has in store for the night should he disobey him, Magnus waits for permission before moving. “If you do well,” Alec adds impassively, “you might put me in a generous enough mood to let you come later.”

Magnus spares a glance upward, meeting Alec’s gaze with pleading eyes. A chill ricochets down his spine at the cold facade he sees—callous, self-serving. Alec raises an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?” He taps Magnus’s cheek crudely with the head of his dick. Magnus’s eyes widen at the crass gesture, shocked that this is the same man who snuggles against him every night. “Whores like you know how to suck a cock. Open up.”

Magnus opens his mouth obediently, unable to summon a single witty comeback at the sight of his husband acting so downright obscene. He leans forward and seals his lips around the head of Alec’s dick, using his tongue to slather it in spit. Alec gives a small thrust for good measure, just enough to threaten triggering Magnus’s gag reflex without choking him. “That’s right,” Alec goads. “Look at you. You’re exactly as you’re meant to be—on your knees, sucking a Shadowhunter’s cock. I bet you wish you could touch yourself right now.”

Magnus _does_ wish he could touch himself. His pants are too tight, and his hands are useless tied behind him. Alec reaches down and massages his own balls, taunting Magnus with what he can’t have. When Magnus closes his eyes and moans, Alec falls silent with a sharp intake of air. He winds his fingers through Magnus’s hair, stifling small, deep noises of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Alec finally breathes. “You’re so good at that. Such a good little slut for me. You look so pretty with my cock buried in your mouth.” Magnus moans again, bobbing his head with renewed vigor at the praise, dragging something between a growl and a groan from Alec’s throat. The Shadowhunter’s hips quiver before he regains himself. Alec bites his lip and stares down at Magnus with a small, lascivious smile. He holds his gaze when he speaks, bucking his hips slightly into Magnus’s mouth. “I have half a mind to keep you like this for awhile. Tie you up in the bedroom and leave you there. You can be the Inquisitor’s pet warlock, my little fucktoy who exists only to please me after I get home every night.”

Magnus’s thoughts stop short, his attention to the activity at hand stuttering momentarily as he processes the words. Something cold grips his heart. Alec’s hand wound tightly through his hair prevents him from pulling back as his mind races to place what he’s feeling. It’s an emotion he’s never experienced in Alec’s presence before—at least not _caused_ by him. He closes his eyes and focuses on pleasuring his husband, struggling to quiet his racing heart. The slight movement of Alec’s hips grows jerky and unsteady as Alec nears his peak. “Fuck, you’re so perfect like this. Dirty little whore.”

Alec pulls out before he comes, just as Magnus finally places that old, unfamiliar feeling: Fear. It’s a nagging tug at the bag of his mind—a tiny voice that says Alec isn’t just playing a game. Magnus is tied up and bound at the mercy of the Inquisitor of the Clave, in the middle of Alicante, with no magic, and no escape. Hundreds of years of living at odds with the nephilim fuels a surge of panicked adrenaline. What is four hundred years versus the handful he’s known Alec? How did he get here? _Why_ did he think this was a good idea? He has _no way out_.

Alec grunts, and Magnus is jerked back to reality by warm drops of cum dripping onto his face and chest. He stares up at Alec with wide, stunned eyes.

_Fuck._

There’s something so primal and _sexy_ about the way Alec’s whole body bows as he strokes himself to completion, cum spurting from the tip of his cock onto Magnus’s skin. The mess of thoughts in Magnus’s mind swirl together in a confusing mix of terror and arousal.

He’s completely at the mercy of the Inquisitor, but the Inquisitor is _hot_. And the Inquisitor is going to use him as a fuckhole.

Alec pauses, carefully reading the emotions that flit across Magnus’s expression. He stands motionless, the last bit of cum dribbling down the side of his dick. His hold on Magnus’s hair loosens. “Color?” he asks guardedly.

Magnus is momentarily tugged out of that desperate, confusing state of arousal. He tries to remember what Alec means, to recontextualize the moment, before the question clicks in his brain. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Green. Please, fuck, don’t stop.” At that, Alec narrows his eyes, his shoulders tensing threateningly, and Magnus stumbles back over his words. “Sir… Inquisitor,” he adds hastily. “Please, sir. _Use_ me _._ _I deserve it_.”

He sounds pathetic, begging on his knees on the kitchen floor, covered in Alec’s cum, but he doesn’t care. It’s intoxicating, that mix of fear and lust. He’s completely powerless. If Alec really wants to, he could spin Magnus around right now and fuck him senseless while Magnus writhes and screams, and Magnus couldn’t do _anything_ to stop him. And Magnus just wants _more_. He wants Alec on him, all over him, inside of him. He wants hot breath on his neck and sweat pooling in the dimples on his back. He wants to pull against his bonds while Alec holds him down and makes him come again and again.

“One taste of me and you’re this desperate,” Alec smirks, tracing his index finger over Magnus’s lips. “What a greedy little skank.”

Magnus can practically _feel_ his pupils dilating. Goosebumps trail across his bare chest from where the wetness of Alec’s cum is already cooling. “Yes Inquisitor,” he responds, need raising the pitch of his voice. “I am.” The thrill creeps up inside his ribcage and clings to his lungs like a hot, lecherous vise.

“I didn’t tell you to speak,” Alec snaps. He smacks his wet, softening cock against Magnus’s face. Magnus blinks at the scolding, impossibly hard at how _lewd_ it is. “Put that tongue of yours to better use and lick me clean,” Alec orders. Magnus sets to work immediately, trailing his tongue over the soft skin, lapping up every stray bit of cum he can find, thoroughly coating Alec’s cock in his saliva.

Alec bites back a quiet moan, and soon he's hardening again. He grips Magnus’s shoulder so tightly it hurts a bit, clearly fighting not to buck his hips in response to Magnus’s soft, eager licks. Magnus’s own arousal reaches almost unbearable new heights, as if he’s dragged upward along with Alec, impossibly turned on by the knowledge that he’s pleasuring him. Alec reaches down and circles Magnus’s nipple with one finger, barely touching him. Magnus cringes away from the sudden stimulation, burying his head in Alec’s thigh and whimpering, fidgeting to desperately get some sort of movement over his own cock.

“Enough,” Alec gasps, stepping back. Magnus bites his lip to cut off the tiny, pathetic sound that threatens to escape from him, heartbroken at the loss of Alec’s warm body next to his. “I think it’s time to properly restrain you, don’t you think?”

Magnus nods enthusiastically, all of the possible options running through his mind. “Yes, please, sir,” Magnus says, swallowing the sudden dryness of his throat. He’s practically drooling, ready to make himself vulnerable, to throw himself in front of his Inquisitor with his ass in the air.

“On your feet,” Alec instructs. Magnus pushes himself up, holding his balance with as much grace as he can manage with his arms so firmly tied behind him. Alec nods approvingly. “Good. Now take your pants off.”

Magnus hesitates. He can’t even unbutton his pants on his own. How is he supposed to manage this without magic? He stands helplessly, lost, searching around for some solution.

Alec raises one amused eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Does my little helpless slut need assistance?”

Magnus blushes, painfully aware of how pitiful he is. His thoughts race for any other answer, until he finally realizes there is none. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he mumbles.

“Speak up, warlock. What do you need?”

“Please help me undress, sir.” Magnus’s eyes feel a bit hot. It’s such a basic thing. He can’t even manage this on his own. He finds himself even more determined than before to prove himself, to make Alec come again and again, to show just how capable he is of pleasuring him.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Alec hooks his pinkies through Magnus’s belt loops, tugging him forward. Magnus stumbles, taken by surprise, and ends up tripping into Alec’s chest.

“S—sorry,” he gasps, as Alec’s arms close around him. “Inquisitor.” He takes a moment to breathe, to bask in the closeness and the embrace, his heart rate steadying.

Alec chuckles softly. “I’ve got you.” They stand like that for a long moment, until Alec pushes him up straight by his shoulder with one strong, calloused hand. “Maybe if you didn’t wear such tight, skanky pants, you wouldn’t have this problem. Don’t you think you brought this on yourself?” His tone is scolding, but gentle. _Fair_.

“Yes Inquisitor,” Magnus answers. Alec’s hands drop to the buttons of Magnus’s pants. Magnus’s legs tremble, every nerve alight at the nearness of Alec’s hand to his cock, the nearness of their lips to each other. Alec leans down and kisses Magnus, and Magnus whimpers, because he just can’t get enough of it—the softness of Alec’s lips, the teasing dance of his fingers over Magnus’s waistband. “Please,” he begs when Alec breaks away. “Please, Inquisitor. Take this off of me. Bend me over and fuck me, I’m begging you. I don’t care where.”

Alec silences him with a finger across his lips. “Don’t worry,” he soothes. He pops open one button, then the next, and it’s honestly _torture_. “We’ll get there eventually. But you have to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes Inquisitor,” Magnus murmurs hopefully. The last button is open. Magnus steps on the hem of his pants, helping to wriggle out of them as Alec pushes his waistband down, dragging his underwear with it. Then Magnus is stark naked, standing in the middle of their kitchen under the warm, bright lights. Alec is standing in front of him, still fully clothed. Magnus has no idea when Alec buttoned his own jeans back up.

“Back to your knees,” Alec orders. Magnus wonders if they’ll ever leave the kitchen, if Alec plans to take him to the bedroom at all tonight. He realizes he doesn’t care, as long as Alec fucks him. He’ll take it on the table, on the counter, on one of the chairs. Hell—he’ll even take it on top of the dish-drying rack. It doesn’t _matter._ Magnus falls to his knees, wincing when they hit the tile a bit too roughly, tenderness flaring up from when he hit the floor earlier. The cold tile is a blessing, managing to soothe his soreness, if only a bit. “Stay here,” Alec commands.

Alec disappears into the next room, and then Magnus hears him rummaging around in the bedroom. It’s too quiet in the kitchen alone, with only the sound of his own uneven breathing to break the silence. He swears he can even hear the hum of the lights above him. Before he can process the bizarre sensation of Alec’s absence the Shadowhunter returns, a coil of rope in his hand. It’s a deep wine color, straddling the line between dark purple and red.

Disappearing out of his field of vision, Alec kneels behind Magnus and unties his wrists. “Stretch your arms out,” he says, and Magnus does. It feels good, like stretching after a workout. When Alec’s hands slide back down his biceps, arrow-nocking callouses tickling his skin, Magnus obediently returns his arms behind his back.

Alec works in silence at first. The loose, silky ends of the rope slide tantalizingly over the backs of Magnus’s legs, tapping teasingly against his ass as Alec focuses on the task one step at a time. After what feels like a lifetime of silence, the Shadowhunter speaks up.

“You’re going to look so pretty all bound up in this color.” He tugs something tight, and Magnus’s forearms press together. “My desperate little slut, all tied up, relying on my assistance to chase your own pleasure.” Alec’s voice is thinly controlled, heavy with lust and want. He wraps a line of rope over the top of each of Magnus’s shoulders, connecting where it stretches tight across his chest.

“Please help me, Inquisitor,” Magnus murmurs. He rolls his hips, but no amount of squirming could ever provide the friction he craves. He’s past the point where he cares about how pathetic his begging might sound. His cock stands tall in front of him, needy and untouched and ignored.

A shrill beeping sound slices through the air, accompanied by loud buzzing on the table. It shatters the moment. Magnus huffs. It’s already well into the night—who would be calling Alec this late?

Alec pauses his work and Magnus hears the shuffling of Alec's hand searching the countertop. He waits impatiently for his husband to silence the phone and return to his ropework.

“Hello?”

Magnus blinks, aghast, at the casual unexpected sound of Alec’s greeting. A firm tug signals that Alec has picked up the rope ends again and is continuing with his knotwork, the phone likely wedged between his shoulder and his ear. “Yeah,” Alec adds. Magnus fights to keep his mouth from falling open, utterly stunned his husband would do this to him. He tugs at the restraints, intending to stubbornly protest, but they hold tight. “Hold still,” Alec snaps at Magnus, yanking his body back into place, then returns to his phone conversation as if nothing happened at all. “Of course,” he says pleasantly.

Magnus wonders who called Alec this late into the evening, and could possibly have the clout required for Alec to interrupt their activities. Probably Jace, Magnus concludes. Or Izzy. Magnus makes a mental note to murder his mysterious cockblocker next time he sees them. He wriggles impatiently, frustrated at only having part of Alec’s attention. He hopes it messes up whatever fancy knot his husband was trying to finish. A harsh tug forces him unforgivingly back into position.

Alec reaches down and swipes the black satin tie from the floor by Magnus’s knee. Magnus feels it slide under his feet, and his heart thumps when it tightens around his ankles. ”Mhmm,” Alec acknowledges to whoever is on the phone.

“Tell whoever it is to go away,” Magnus grumbles quietly. Alec pinches one of his nipples, _hard_ , and he yelps.

“Shh,” Alec scolds roughly. Then, in an amicable tone, “No, sorry. That was me. I stubbed my toe.” Alec rises to his feet and wanders over to the kitchen counter, facing away from Magnus, chuckling at something the other person says. He nods and makes several more noises of acknowledgement.

Magnus is losing his patience. He craves Alec’s attention, and he’s not above misbehaving to get it. Any attention is better than none. “Tell whoever that is to fuck off,” Magnus complains loudly. “You’re _busy_.”

Alec turns and smirks, shaking his head slowly down at Magnus. “Of course, Consul Penhallow. I can go look it over right now.”

Magnus chokes on his next words, eyes almost bulging out of his head. The _Consul_? He doesn’t even think to make a sassy comment when Alec turns and heads toward the living room.

Just outside of the kitchen, Alec pauses. He visibly taps the mute button on his phone, then turns back to Magnus. “When I return, you better be kneeling exactly as you are,” Alec threatens, his voice low and dangerous. “If I think you’ve moved a single inch, I’m going to tie you to the headboard and spend the rest of the night edging you, without any release. Then I'm going to leave you stuck like that until morning. Do you understand, you insolent little whore?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Magnus whispers, acutely aware of the Consul’s name blinking on the phone screen, completely unaware of what’s going on just on the other end of the line. “Yes, sir,” Magnus finally manages, pulse racing wildly.

“Perfect. Now wait here like the obedient fucktoy you are. When I get back, we’ll see to your punishment for how you’ve behaved.” With that, Alec lifts the phone back to his ear, unmuting the call. “I’m looking at it right now,” he says, sounding like a completely different person from only a few seconds before. He turns and walks off toward his desk in the other room.

Magnus is left alone. His knees hurt, sore against the hard tile. The lights are bright. He feels exposed and vulnerable. Alec’s voice drifts in from the other room, discussing some legal proceeding relating to Shadowhunters’ salaries. It’s entirely boring, and Magnus is certain it should not be taking priority over him. He strains against his ropes impatiently, but finds he cannot budge. Alec used the black silk tie to fasten his ankles to the ropes around his wrists. He left just enough give for Magnus to kneel relatively comfortably. If he tries to change position, he will fall over.

After a few minutes, he begins to wonder if Alec is ever coming back. He hates that he’s still hard. His mind keeps wandering back to Alec’s threats. And before that, to the way Alec made him beg for his cock. He lets out a defeated whining sound, almost like a sigh, watching his own cock twitch desperately. A criss-crossing array of ropes stretches across his back and between his shoulder blades. He occupies himself trying to mentally map out where they meet, how it looks, but he can’t quite make sense of the shape while sitting so stationary.

In the other room, after a shuffling of paper and a few very patient farewells and promises to sign something in the morning, Magnus hears Alec hang up the phone. Quiet footsteps trail back towards the kitchen.

Magnus makes the mistake of expecting a face to match the voice he just heard—gentle, understanding. That is not what meets him. When he returns to the kitchen, Alec’s face is stone cold. He marches straight over to Magnus and almost rips the tie from his ankles, the violence of the movement shocking another surge of adrenaline through the warlock before Alec yanks him to his feet.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing back there, huh?”

"Ale—sir?" Magnus asks. Alec shoves him forward, driving him forcefully across the living room and toward the floor to ceiling windows as he struggles not to stumble, hopping here and there to keep pace with Alec’s long strides. Excitement rises in Magnus at the new location, but apprehension trails, triggered by the fury in Alec's tone.

Alec presses Magnus’s face against the cold glass, slamming his body into Magnus's back. He nips at Magnus's ear, and Magnus whimpers. Heated words tickle Magnus's left cheek, contrasting sharply with the cold press of the window against his right. "That's three times now that you've forgotten your manners. I think you need to be reminded who owns you." Heat floods Magnus’s core.

Magnus has always kept very painstaking wards and protections around the loft. Anyone looking in sees nothing but an empty apartment. He refreshes the wards regularly, assuring he and Alec always feel safe, secure, and completely at ease—away from prying eyes. All the same, he finds himself mentally running through the last time he recast them, wondering if there’s any chance someone wandering around at street level several floors below—or in a neighboring building—might catch a glimpse of his naked, bound body on display for the world to see. He can’t remember, and Alec doesn’t give him time to.

“I’m going to leave three marks on your body—one for each time you’ve misbehaved. I expect you to keep these until they’ve healed naturally, as a reminder of how ungrateful you’ve been to me. Color?”

Magnus presses himself harder against the glass, hoping it can cool the burning in his blood. “Green sir,” he manages. He’s already imagining waking up in the morning, looking at himself in the mirror, body littered with evidence of their pleasure.

Alec spins him back around, pressing Magnus’s back to the glass, his immobilized wrists acting as a buffer between much of his skin and the unforgivingly cold surface. His stare is so intense that Magnus’s eyes drop down the floor, suddenly a little worried about just how severely Alec intends to bruise him. Alec catches his chin and tips it back up. “Everyone will know you’re mine,” he growls. “That the mighty High Warlock has been whoring himself out to the Inquisitor at night, begging to be put in his place.”

Magnus imagines walking into a Council meeting with his neck covered in bruises. It would never really happen—whenever he and Alec choose not to heal the marks from their lovemaking, they cover them with makeup during the day—but all the same, the idea has a pleasing tension rising inside of him.

Alec reaches down and tugs Magnus’s legs out wide, so he supports himself with a broad stance that leaves his cock and thighs exposed. Then Alec presses Magnus’s head to the side and assaults his neck with a slew of lips and teeth.

Magnus stifles a moan. It _hurts_. But fuck, it hurts so _good_. One of Alec’s long, muscled arms plants itself on the glass above Magnus’s shoulder, just within his view. The other grips his waist, and Magnus wonders if he’ll have bruises there, too. He hopes so. Alec is plastered against him, still fully clothed, and it makes Magnus feel like a glorified sex toy, stripped and on display. Alec rubs their straining cocks together through his jeans, and the friction is almost too much. When Alec sucks in on his neck particularly roughly for a second, Magnus flinches.

“Am I hurting you, _darling_?” Alec asks into his neck. His voice is muffled by Magnus’s skin, but Magnus hears the taunting threat lying beneath the question. He can smell Alec’s hair, like smoke and cedar and Magnus’s own sandalwood shampoo. He considers his answer carefully.

“Only as much as I deserve, Inquisitor,” he whispers. His own words send a shock of heat through him. Alec pulls back, looking down at him with dark, pleased eyes. Holding Magnus’s gaze, he traces his thumb down Magnus’s neck, stopping at the bruise that Magnus is sure already darkens his skin. Alec’s other hand falls to trace down Magnus’s abs, dangerously close to where Magnus wants it the most. Alec lifts his exploration to Magnus’s nipples, tracing a finger over one as he presses lightly into the bruise on Magnus’s neck, just enough for it to ache. Magnus gasps as the breathtaking combination of pleasure and pain that reverberates across his skin, echoing deep into his bones. “Thank you, sir,” he chokes out, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“You’re already learning your lesson. Good.” Alec sinks to one knee, and Magnus’s heart beats so wildly that he’s sure Alec must be able to hear it. Alec’s mouth finds the soft spot just above Magnus’s hip bone. Magnus braces himself for pain, but Alec only brushes a soft kiss against the skin there, leaving Magnus shuddering at the unexpected tenderness of it. Then, just as the warlock relaxes, Alec bites.

Magnus cries out, squeezing his eyes closed. He can’t hold it back. Alec’s hands are on his ass, fingers creeping inward toward his most sensitive places, dragging a rush of desire from him despite the sharp pain of Alec’s teeth on his skin, which grows duller as Alec moves on to sucking—creating a vacuum to pool the blood beneath Magnus’s skin to the surface. It’s the perfect combination of pain and unbearable need. Magnus’s cock brushes against Alec’s shoulder and the sensation sends shockwaves through his whole body.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?” Alec asks when he’s done, still on one knee, still gripping Magnus’s ass. Magnus may be standing over him, but Alec is the one in complete control, and he has Magnus exactly where he wants him. Magnus fights through his haze of lust to mumble out the first answer that comes to mind.

“Because I like it?” he breathes. He really does. He fucking _loves_ it. He _aches_. He wants _more_. He wonders when he became such a slut for punishment—if he’s always unknowingly been this way, or if Alec just brought it out in him.

“No,” Alec scoffs. His eyebrows knit together in very convincing bemusement. “Because _I_ like it,” he explains patiently, like Magnus might not understand him if he doesn’t speak slowly. “And you can’t stop me.”

Alec hitches one of Magnus’s legs up over his shoulder. Magnus’s breath catches, wanting desperately for Alec’s lips to move just a few inches over, where his cock bobs, impossibly hard and leaking precum. Alec continues to ignore it, lips latching on to Magnus’s inner thigh, which he knows is one of Magnus’s most sensitive spots.

Magnus writhes at the contact. He’s sure he’s going to burst, explode into a million pieces, right there. _This_ is why Alec had to bind Magnus’s magic. He just can’t control himself like this. If his magic weren’t bound, he’s sure he’d be setting the entire city ablaze. He deserves to be tied up, to be punished. He needs it. He has to be _controlled_. He rests most of his weight on the leg that is tossed over Alec’s shoulder, tightening it against Alec’s back. He rises to his toes on the foot that remains on the floor, struggling to remain standing as Alec sucks and bites at the thin skin inside of his thigh.

Despite the implication of Alec’s words, Magnus does not want to stop him.

Below him, Magnus barely hears Alec start speaking again. “Rule number three,” his Inquisitor growls. “Do not come unless I tell you to.”

Magnus doesn’t have time to protest. Hot, wet lips surround his cock. Gentle fingers massage his balls. Magnus’s eyes roll back in his head, and his knees give out completely, leaving him fully supported by Alec’s strength. He realizes he’s begging again—this time, for the opposite of what he yearned for previously.

“No,” he mutters. “No, please. Please, I can’t.” Alec takes him in all the way to his root, dragging his tongue down the underside of Magnus’s dick. “Please Al—Inquisitor—please! _It’s too much._ ” Magnus tries to back away from the pleasure, to pull himself from Alec’s grasp, but he can’t. He’s trapped between the Inquisitor and the glass, and Alec’s strength far outmatches his.

Alec finally releases him, dropping his leg and standing back to survey his work. Magnus almost collapses, but manages to catch himself against the window. Alec nods approvingly. “Have you learned your lesson, little whore?” he asks, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth.

Magnus nods desperately, sagging against the wall of glass. He has stopped caring if anyone outside can see him or not. His cock and balls hang heavy between his legs, dripping and needy. “Thank you for reminding me, Inquisitor,” he answers quietly. He wants to fall to his knees, to beg to be allowed to come, but he doesn’t. Begging never worked before. Instead, he waits in silence, staring at the floor. Every hair on his body stands on end, hyper aware of every move Alec makes in his peripheral vision. He is ready to do whatever his Inquisitor asks of him.

“Come here,” Alec commands. With some effort, Magnus lifts himself up off the glass, surprised at how exhausted he feels already. His eyes remain directed downward. Alec wraps his hand around Magnus’s neck, tilting the warlock’s chin up so their eyes lock. Magnus waits for another order, but instead, Alec kisses him.

The kiss makes Magnus’s knees weak all over again. He can taste himself on Alec’s lips. He’s trembling. “Do you want me to fuck you?” the Inquisitor asks, whispered words warm against Magnus’s face.

“Please,” is all Magnus can manage, so quiet he isn’t sure if it’s even audible. The answer to the question doesn’t matter anyways—the Inquisitor wants to fuck him, so he will. Magnus finds himself stumbling toward the bedroom, pushed along with an unforgiving grip on the ropes that criss-cross his back. All he can think about is whether or not he’s been good enough, if his mouthing off ruined his chances at being allowed to have relief from the torturous tension between his thighs.

Alec shoves him into the bedroom, then pushes him against the mattress. He falls ungracefully onto it, bent over with his legs on the floor. He barely has enough time to register the flickering clusters of scarlet candles scattered around the room, casting slivers of dim light across the walls. Alec hitches one of Magnus’s knees up onto the bed, spreading his legs so his asshole is completely exposed. Magnus fights with every fiber of his being not to thrust into the blankets. The Inquisitor checks him over, smoothing the comforter near Magnus’s face to make sure he has ample room to breathe. Magnus’s eyes sting a bit, and he’s not entirely sure why.

At first, Magnus thinks the Shadowhunter is punishing him more, leaving him sitting there. Then he hears the sound of fabric hitting the floor. _He’s getting undressed._ Excitements buzzes through Magnus’s bloodstream. He can’t help wiggling his ass a bit, beckoning the Inquisitor closer, inviting him in.

A drawer opens, then there’s the sound of a bottle squeezing. Magnus stifles a whimper. He knows if he tries to rush things, he’ll only have to wait longer. He’s here at the Inquisitor’s leisure, and if he’s insolent, he’ll be punished again. He has to behave if he wants to be allowed to come.

His patience is rewarded moments later when slick, warm fingers slide across his exposed hole. He buries his face in the blankets, smothering the filthy moan that rips from his throat. Alec’s finger circles his entrance, teasing him. The ropes wrapped around Magnus’s body seem to tighten as his muscles fight involuntarily to free his arms, to grab on to anything.

“You can’t escape,” Alec admonishes. “I get to tease you as long as I want. You’re mine to play with.” He pushes the very tip of his finger inside of Magnus, rotating the pressure he puts on his rim to help loosen up the tight muscle.

“Yours,” Magnus gasps, the word almost nonsensical on his lips.

“You look so irresistible, all wrapped up for me like this. I have half a mind to keep you here awhile.” Alec sides his finger in further, skimming Magnus’s walls, heading for a very specific spot. A sob wracks Magnus’s body. He can’t even beg, he doesn’t have the words or willpower to do it. All of his nerve endings light up at the stimulation, edging him closer to the relief he so direly needs.

_Please please please please please._

Alec’s attention finds its way to his target. Magnus’s whole body curls in on itself at the careful stimulation of his prostate. He’s almost falling off the bed, crying and mumbling in all of the languages he knows.

“Is that Chthonian I hear?” the Inquisitor asks, with what seems to amount to only mild interest. “Your demonic tongues won’t save you. You gave up your magic, remember? Willingly. You wanted this. Begged for it. What does that make you?”

The Shadowhunter pulls his finger free, grasping Magnus’s bindings with two strong, calloused hands to lift him up and move him more securely back onto the bed. He pulls Magnus’s other knee up, so the warlock kneels with his face in the mattress and his ass in the air.

“Answer the question,” Alec orders roughly, his finger once again circling Magnus’s hole.

“A slut,” Magnus answers, his voice high pitched and needy. Every part of him is tense, frantic. He tries to rock back onto Alec’s fingers, but Alec pulls them away. “A dirty little warlock whore,” Magnus adds desperately.

It’s the right answer. Alec plunges his finger back into Magnus, then adds a second. Magnus muffles his shout in the mattress, rocking his hips. He bounces on Alec’s fingers, and the Inquisitor allows him to, for which Magnus is endlessly thankful.

“Who do you belong to?” Alec asks.

“The Inquisitor,” Magnus answers, gasping, without hesitation. His words disappear into the blankets near his face. “I’m the Inquisitor’s tramp.”

“Very good,” Alec praises, adding a third finger. “You’re being so good for me, my little warlock whore.” Magnus feels impossibly stretched, but it’s not enough. He throws all of his weight into thrusting against the Shadowhunter’s fingers, chasing every glancing press on his prostate.

Suddenly, Alec pulls out. Hope blooms in Magnus’s chest. It promptly crashes down when the Inquisitor’s footsteps fade away, back to the other side of the house, leaving Magnus lying there, a quivering mess in the sheets.

“Please,” he wails, but it comes out as only a weak whimper. “Please come back.”

The Shadowhunter does return. There’s some movement that Magnus can’t place, unable to turn his head that far, then the sound of something being dropped on the bedside table.

“You look so beautiful,” the Inquisitor says. His voice is softer now. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Magnus chokes out. Tears leak from his eyes, wetting the blankets near his face. He wishes he could see him, touch him. “Please, Inquisitor. I can’t take any more. Please give me your cock. I need it. I’ll do anything.”

“Fuck,” Alec breathes. Unsteady fingers slather more lube all over Magnus’s hole. “It’s so hot when you beg for me like that. When you give in to your nature for me, admit what you are.”

Delicious, perfect pressure against his entrance sends Magnus’s sanity scattering to the winds. “I’m your demon-blooded slut,” Magnus whimpers, coercing the Inquisitor forward.

Alec thrusts into him. The unbelievable stretch and pressure sends him into a series of incoherent babbles. He doesn’t even know which language he’s speaking, if any at all. He’s so _full_. Every small shift, every time he tenses or breathes, he can feel the presence of the Inquisitor’s thick cock inside of him.

“You’re so tight,” the Shadowhunter gasps. “So tight for me.” Magnus rolls his hips involuntarily at the praise, and the Inquisitor moans. The sound shivers straight through Magnus’s body to his balls and his asshole, where Alec slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, taking his pleasure. Magnus bites down on the bed sheets as Alec establishes a languid rhythm, pulling almost entirely out of Magnus’s hole every stroke before burying himself entirely, nailing Magnus’s prostate with almost every thrust. Too soon, Alec’s movement falters, gripping Magnus’s hips, and Magnus feels the telltale warmth of cum filling him up.

Magnus groans when the Shadowhunter pulls out of him, the sound muffled by the blanket still lodged between his teeth. He doesn’t move, despite the tears still burning his eyes, praying that his unwavering obedience will finally earn him the orgasm he so desperately craves.

The Inquisitor retrieves whatever he had placed on the bedside table, standing behind Magnus motionless for a second. “You look so perfect with my cum dripping out of you like that,” Alec says quietly. “So thoroughly used and fucked. I want you to see it.” He pushes Magnus over onto his back. Almost instinctively, Magnus curls his legs upward to hold as much of the Inquisitor’s cum inside of himself as possible. Alec makes a small, approving sound that sends Magnus’s pulse skyrocketing and his cock twitching.

Magnus’s eyes fall upon the Inquisitor, standing naked with his phone in one hand and his _stele_ in the other. He doesn’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the presence of the phone again. Instead, he only waits patiently for the Inquisitor to finish whatever undeniably important task has him distracted. Magnus knows that Alec’s full attention will return to him eventually.

“Look at yourself,” Alec turns the screen around, and Magnus sees what the Shadowhunter was staring down at. Alec took a photo of Magnus a few seconds before, eyes squeezed shut, ass in the air, arms tied behind his back, still biting the sheets. His hole looks obscenely stretched, cum leaking out of it. The sangria ropes tied across his body meet in a five-pointed star below his shoulder blades, and all around them, Magnus can see the darkening edges of teeth marks and bruises. Sweat shimmers across his skin.

He looks completely ruined.

Magnus’s head falls back onto the mattress, breath uneven and heavy. He’s never seen himself so completely destroyed. His heart flutters as he recreates the image again and again in his mind behind closed eyes, his thoughts reeling, as if he’s seeing himself truly for the first time. He clings jealously to the the feelings the image evokes—the complete submission, the subservience in his posture.

Footsteps circle him. Magnus does not open his eyes. Whatever is coming, it is inevitable. He doesn’t need to see it to accept it.

He startles when something hot lands on his chest, eyes shooting open. He finds the Inquisitor leaning over him, scarlet wax dripping from one of the red candles Magnus noticed when they first entered the room. Alec watches him carefully, spilling more crimson wax over one of the ropes crossing Magnus’s chest, just below his collarbone. He continues until a sizable pool of it forms, then presses a cool metal cylinder into the solidifying blob.

_The Inquisitor’s seal._

Magnus writhes under the heat of it, straining against the ropes. The stamp presses the cooling pool tightly into his skin. The rest of his body feels suddenly more cold. He imagines how he looks now, covered in bruises and ropes, the Inquisitor’s insignia stamped into his chest like he’s a piece of property.

“Do you like that, warlock slut?” Alec asks. “Feeling my claim on you? Marking you as mine?”

“Mhmm,” Magnus sighs. He arches his back when a thin dribble of wax meanders toward his nipple.

“Just one last touch,” Alec murmurs.

 _Yes_ , Magnus thinks. _Touch. Please!_

Alec sets the candle down on the dresser, exchanging it for a black marker. Magnus’s eyes follow the Inquisitor’s hands as he uncaps it, then drags the cool felt tip smoothly over the slick skin of Magnus’s chest. Goosebumps trail after the touch. It takes Alec a few tries to get the ink running properly.

When he finishes writing, the Inquisitor retrieves his phone. Magnus feels his cheeks warm as Alec moves around him, snapping a quick series of photos. He turns his head self-consciously to the side, unaccustomed to the anxious vulnerability that comes with someone snapping pictures of him in such an exposed state.

“Gorgeous,” Alec murmurs, then turns the screen toward Magnus. Magnus looks completely destroyed. The Inquisitor’s seal rests on the left side of his chest like a badge. Below it, across Magnus’s shining, cum-smeared chest, is written _Property of Inquisitor Lightwood-Bane_. Magnus’s face is turned to the side, almost as if in shame, and the angle perfectly shows off the dark bruising across his neck, dotted with clearly defined teeth marks. Magnus moans at the sight of it, his hips bucking with the need to be touched and owned.

“You’ve been so perfect for me,” Alec voice cuts through the silence. “Are you ready to come now? You’ve earned it.”

 _You’ve earned it._ The tears that were stinging Magnus’s eyes earlier return. “Thank you sir,” he chokes out. He feels giddy, lightheaded. His knuckles dig into his back under the weight of his body. He doesn’t care. Everything is still hyper-sensitive, like a single touch might send him careening off into orgasmic oblivion.

Alec hooks an arms under his knees and lifts him, shoving a pillow beneath him to support his ass and get a better angle. Magnus’s knees go weak at the casual display of strength. He feels so thoroughly _claimed_. He’s sticky all over, from the cum smeared across his chest and face earlier to the dribbles of it that leak from his asshole every time he moves. He’s covered in Alec, marked by him, filled up with him, and stamped with his insignia. He belongs to him, completely.

Alec places a gentle kiss on each of Magnus’s ankles, and Magnus startles slightly at the touch. The tenderness of it is dizzying. Alec follows with more kisses on his shins, on his knees. Alec’s fingers dance across the sensitive skin on the backs of his knees and then follow his lips up Magnus’s thighs. Magnus bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, anything to ground him, to keep him anchored. He can barely breathe. Alec’s wet tongue slides across Magnus’s balls. Magnus chokes off a sob.

A sharp pinch jerks his attention sharply to the Inquisitor’s next words. “Don’t hold back those beautiful sounds,” Alec murmurs roughly. Hot breath brushes over Magnus’s cock when he speaks, and Magnus lets out a low, keening moan. He’s grateful when Alec skips over his dick and continues kissing his way up Magnus’s torso—he doesn’t know if he could hold on, being in Alec’s mouth again. Just the thought has him trembling.

Alec drags his tongue over Magnus’s nipples, and they’ve never felt so sensitive, so alive. He tries to curl his knees up to his chest but Alec shoves them back down. “Don’t fight it,” the Shadowhunter growls. The wetness of Alec’s saliva chills his nipples when Alec moves on, kissing his way up Magnus’s neck and then, finally, to his lips. Alec swallows Magnus moan when he feels his entrance out with a few exploratory fingers, scissoring them and ensuring Magnus is still open enough for his cock.

“I’m ready,” Magnus moans, breaking the kiss. “Please, I’m ready.” He doesn’t realize he’s spoken in Chthonian again until Alec laughs. Everything is so jumbled in his mind. He remembers that Alec knows some Chthonian. Magnus taught him.

“Ok,” Alec says, “I’ve got you.”

Alec enters him hard this time, burying himself to the hilt. Magnus’s legs shoot up, wrapping around Alec’s waist, holding him, doing what his arms can’t. It feels so good. He’s been waiting so long and now he doesn’t know how to chase the pleasure, how to let it wash over him and take him, fighting to flee instead. When Magnus finally relaxes a bit, one leg falling to the bed, Alec starts moving.

Magnus arches into the blankets, whimpering and crying. He’s overwhelmed by the drag against his walls, the slap of skin against skin, the wet sound of Alec’s cum leaking out between their bodies from where Magnus was holding it devotedly inside of himself.

Alec leans forward, murmuring into his ear. “You’ve done so well today. So perfect. I want to watch you fall apart now. Completely surrender to me. Lose yourself in how good it feels.”

Magnus doesn’t need to surrender himself. He already has. To the Inquisitor, to Alec, to his husband. He doesn’t want anything else but this. He gasps in halting, stuttering breaths. “Yes,” is all he answers. Alec’s hand wraps around Magnus’s cock, jerking him slowly as he saws against his prostate, teetering right on the edge between painful overstimulation and ecstasy. “Thank you,” Magnus manages. “Thank you, thank you.” He realizes he’s speaking in Chthonian again. He doesn’t care.

Then Alec—also in Chthonian, harsh on his tongue and earth-shatteringly assertive—responds. “Come for me.” It’s unsettling, the confusing mix of personas, the way Alec can be both the Inquisitor of the Clave and the Chthonian-speaking husband of the High Warlock. Magnus surrenders to them both. He _belongs_ to them both.

He thrusts into Alec’s hand and clenches around Alec’s cock, his balls drawing up and cum spurting between them, pooling across Magnus’s abs and dripping onto the bed. His whole body shakes, his arms straining against the ropes that keep them fastened beneath him. He melts in Alec’s hands, that last tiny, remaining shred of self-control floating away into nothingness.

Alec rides out Magnus’s orgasm, his own hips stuttering as he comes inside of him once more, groaning. The sensation of it sends Magnus tumbling into bliss again, right as he thought his body had no more left to give.

After he’s finally stopped shaking, he’s barely aware of Alec turning him over, loosening the ropes on his arms. He does whimper at the soreness as his limbs spill free onto the mess they made of the bed sheets. Pain melts once more into aching pleasure when Alec works painstakingly over Magnus’s entire body, massaging all of his muscles with firm, careful pressure.

Cool air tickles Magnus’s damp skin when Alec lifts him up and carries him to the bathroom. The shower is lukewarm, and he’s glad of it. He doesn’t think he can handle anything more than that. He’s sure it would kill him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows Alec is taking care of him. He doesn’t have to worry about it.

Then, Magnus sits cross-legged on the floor with a glass of water and an unreasonably delicious slice of cold pizza while Alec changes the sheets on the bed. He thinks there must be some faster way to do this, but it’s not his problem. Alec has it covered.

He loves Alec so much. He can still feel the pleasant buzz of his orgasm lingering in his balls, like the distant memory of electricity over his skin.

Magnus does not eat the crust of his pizza. He outright refuses, much to Alec’s amusement. Finally, Alec eats it himself, biting it right out of Magnus’s hand. Magnus can only blink at him, overwhelmed with the pleasant warmth of affection. His husband is adorable. When he’s done stealing Magnus’s pizza crust, Alec scoops him up and tucks him into the bed. The sheets are warm, and soft, and Magnus begins to drift off almost immediately.

“Magnus,” Alec prods, clearly struggling not to laugh. “Magnus you have to turn over.” Magnus frowns, burying his face in the pillow. It’s too soft. He doesn’t want to move. “Magnus,” Alec sighs. “I can’t give you your magic back unless you let me see your shoulder. I put the mark on while I was massaging you in the kitchen.”

A warm spark of satisfied curiosity flickers in Magnus’s chest. Some buried part of him was still wondering how Alec managed to bind his powers without him noticing. Magnus rolls onto his stomach, stretching contentedly. His whole body aches in the pleasantest of ways. He’s exhausted. He fights back a smile when the realization hits him.

He had genuinely forgotten that his magic was bound at all.

The cold trail of _adamas_ traces across his shoulder. Magnus cannot bear runes, but Alec’s _stele_ is effective in neutralizing the one used for this particular binding spell. They practiced it a few times over the course of the past week, and Magnus is now familiar with the sensation of it.

His magic washes over him like a welcome old friend, flickering across his fingertips. Alec hums softly, admiringly. Magnus wants to preen at the attention, but he’s just too bone-tired. Instead, he reaches up and drags Alec down with him, closing his eyes once more.

He falls asleep in the arms of his Shadowhunter, soft sparks of azure magic flickering tenderly around them both.

**Author's Note:**

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